


My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon

by PaxVobis



Series: The Early Demos [2]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Ficlet, Hate Sex, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Preklok, Recreational Drug Use, Request Meme, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Crush, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 20:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: 12. A hoarse whisper, "Kiss me".M15+ only, implied sex and drug use.





	My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_murmaider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/gifts).



_And did you hear the news?_  
_I could dissect you and gut you on this stage._  
_Not as eloquent as I may have imagined,_  
_But it will get the job done, and you're done._

**"My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon", Fall Out Boy**

**\- - -**

Nathan had never felt shitty about fucking with a dude before, y’know, pulling their strings or giving them a hard time, taking advantage of their gullibility or their generosity or their stupidity.  That was the thing with dudes; you all fucked around with each other, so you expected them to fuck you over too if you deserved it.  But it was different with Magnus, and while it was still rare that he felt bad about it – Magnus was a _tremendously_ shitty dude – sometimes it stang.

Nathan would blame it on the sex later, but only because he could not even process that it might have been emotions.  Not his.  Magnus’.  Magnus didn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve; he carried it like a fucking knife, backstabbed and slit throats with it.  Nathan knew it made him uncomfortable, but he did not realise why.  Only that being loaded on the couch in the apartment, the TV on, everyone else out and Magnus fucked up beside him, those crazy eyes black in the flickering light would go soft and broken  and he couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand it at all.

It was the needing that bothered him.  The desperate needing in his eyes, the gazing, the jumped up poetry.  He shouldn’t have let it start, but.  Y’know.  It could be convenient.  Having that kind of victory just on tap, that hit of pleasure knowing someone else was gonna give in to you.  This time, in front of a DVD of a late 80s MTV session, recorded by Magnus in a flop house in LA while Nathan was still kicking footballs up and down a pitch in high school, with Magnus wordless and giving him those needy, gullible eyes and Nathan hating it, he grabbed the man by the front of his open shirt and yanked him so close that Nathan could feel his hot, beery breath, feel Magnus’ spider-like fingers climbing his arm suddenly, grazing over his muscles.  Creepy like that, always touching just when you didn’t want to be.

He looked Magnus in the eye, seeing the way the man was melting into him, and scowled around his disgust before he growled, his voice hoarse and gravelly from chain smoking the blunts that filled the ash tray between them: “Suck it.”  When he grabbed the back of Magnus’ head, thick fingers buried in his curls, and showed him exactly where he should be looking, he put up no fight at all.

But damn did it feel shitty, messed him up in the heart or - or something. It could not last.


End file.
